


The Needs of Dawn and Dusk

by ivyspinners



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyspinners/pseuds/ivyspinners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a universally accepted truth in Amy Pond's world that Rory Williams is in love with her. She doesn't have to wonder why. Or: What Amy Pond knows, and what she <i>knows</i> but won't admit to herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Needs of Dawn and Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> Written before S6.

**i.**

It is a universally accepted truth in Amy Pond's world that Rory Williams is in love with her.

By comparing the rather different domains 'universe' and 'world' contain, this should give you an idea of how utterly certain she is of this fact.

She's eight when he moves in and she knows from that very instant, when he finds her in a forest clearing where no one has before, that they're going to be friends.

She's nine when he exchanges his secrets with hers and she knows from that very instant, when he listens to her tales of the Raggedy Doctor in their entirety even though he obviously doesn't believe, that he trusts her.

She's twelve when he stops playing Raggedy Doctor with her -- their only really unique game -- but can't seem to stop being WITH her and she knows from that very instant, when he turns to leave the garden yet doesn't actually go, that he's never had a best friend like her.

She's fifteen when he finds her alone with Matt from art class next to what she refers to privately as 'their garden' and she knows from that very instant, when she ditches Matt and he teases her lightly though he's having romantic troubles with Patricia the Baker's Daughter, that she's so important to him he's willing to set aside his pain for her.

She's sixteen when they decide to go to the graduation dance together and she knows from that very instant, when they laugh their way into the hall decorated with red and black (and don't stop for the rest of the night), that he'll never be as comfortable with another girl as he is with her.

She's nineteen when a two-month-long estrangement finally comes to an end and she knows from that very instant, when she stares at him lounging outside her door from the opposite end of her raggedy garden and definitely -- doesn't -- cry at his slow step towards her, that he can't stay angry at her.

She's twenty-one when he comforts her after the Doctor leaves again and she knows from that very instant, when his arm tightens around her shoulders as she leans into him and lets her tears dry from his steady comfort (he's never been so gentle with her when she's not crying), that part of his love comes from the... brokenness in her.

She's still twenty-one when he tells her he loves her.

He's quiet and fading, unnoticed in his normality, and the life he represents is dull and boring. She's fiery, and ambitious, and she knows she's beautiful, so is it so strange that he falls in love with her? She doesn't have to wonder why.

She's twenty-three when the Doctor asks her to go with him, and it's the night before her wedding.

She loves Rory, yes; he loves her, and he needs her in a way she doesn't need him, and she's irritated by it.

She doesn't look back when she says 'yes'.

 

**ii.**

She calls him 'clingy'.

She doesn't apologise because he should know better, she can take care of herself

_(he's never been so gentle with her when she's not crying)_

like she always has. She doesn't apologise because he acts like she's his world.

She doesn't apologise because it's the truth.

 

**iii.**

For some reason, she can't stop crying.

Waterworks, on and off, and she's never been the sort to cry, never been the sort to let someone comfort her while she's crying either. They come without warning, without the emotion that really must accompany it, and she doesn't have to pretend to be confused.

She doesn't have dreams at night; no, nothing like that, and when the Doctor talks about loss and memories, she wonders what he's lost, because surely, he can't be talking about her!

Then, why?

There's nothing to let go of. Nothing to reach for.

That's why her hand can't open. It's not like she's clinging desperately onto something, anything, and won't.

But still, the inexplicable, unanswerable question: why?

 

**iii redux.**

The question really is 'why?' and she finally realises she's been asking it all her life at her wedding, when she remembers.

 

**ii redux.**

She leaves on the night before their wedding.

She fights against the world where he is happy.

She goes after the Doctor and kisses him, and does/doesn't wait for Rory to leave.

He stays, like he knows her better than she knows herself.

She wonders when exactly it was that Rory, who was a corner of her world, became the cornerstone of it -- overlooked sometimes, but always, always needed.

 

**i redux.**

Amy Pond lived most of her life like she stood alone on a moon of Jupiter - with space looming endlessly in every direction and the volcanic lava of knowing Rory Williams loved her.

By comparing the emptiness of space with the vivid warmth of lava, this should give you an idea of how alone she was.

She was eight when he moved in next door and she wondered from that very instant, when he appeared out of nowhere among the giant roots of her special tree, why he'd come to find her. She was just glad he'd succeeded.

She was nine when she told him her deepest secrets -- not of the Raggedy Doctor, but that once, just once, she really did cry when the other kids teased her about him -- and she wondered from that very instant why, though he obviously didn't believe about the Raggedy Doctor, she trusted him. She just did.

She was twelve when he turned to leave after one game of Raggedy Doctor too many and she wondered from that very instant why, though he'd twisted an ankle climbing onto her special tree to rescue her, he considered her his best friend anyway and didn't actually go (like everyone else had.) She insisted one last time, and (the games) stopped.

She was fifteen when he had a free moment from studying for medical school to visit her -- so much more important than a meaningless snog with Matt from art class -- and she wondered from that very instant why, though Patricia the Baker's Daughter ought to take higher priority, he would soothe her instead. She did her best to distract him -- oddly pleased that he would pick her over the other people in his life -- because he did need it.

She was sixteen when she asked him to the graduation dance only to find that he'd been discreetly choosing a tie that would suit her dress and she wondered from that very instant, when they took photos and laughed at the silly faces they made, if he realised their arms looped together as they entered was a hundred times more comfortable and yet exciting than her kiss with Matt. She loved it.

She was nineteen when that strange feeling of missing him -- a phantom twinge, something like being woken in the middle of the night from pain in her finger only to realise the entire hand was missing -- came to an end and she wondered from that very instant, when she saw him outside her front door, why he could be the bigger one at forgive her. She let her extinct embers anger slip away and threw her arms around him.

She was twenty-one when she broke with the Doctor's sudden exit and she wondered from that very instant, when she finally acknowledged that his comforting embrace made her feel something else too, if he would care so much if he weren't trying to fix her. Not for the first time, she closed her mind to it.

She was nearly twenty-two when he told her he loved her.

He was calm and accepting, an anchor to reality, and the life he represented was predictable but it wasn't HIM--the normal man who took the stars in his stride. She was selfish and lonely, and exotically broken, so would he really have fallen in love with her? She wavered if she let herself wonder why, so she made sure she didn't.

She was twenty-three when the Doctor asked her to go with him, and it was the night before her wedding.

Rory loved her, but he didn't need her, not like she needed him, and she hated it. She was his world's dawn and dusk, the streaks of vivid light blazing across his deep violet sky--beauty and colour--but he was the fruit tree she sat beneath every day, the winding river of water, the endless warmth of a hearth.

She didn't look back when she said 'yes'.

 

**iv.**

Her life ebbing away on a wind-swept rock and two thousand years of waiting

_(I love Rory, and I never told him)_

_(She is to me!)_

make her understand that she's wrong.


End file.
